


to bury a child

by werealldreaming



Category: Stormlight Archive - Brandon Sanderson
Genre: Canon Compliant, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Missing Scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-13
Updated: 2019-05-13
Packaged: 2020-03-02 09:20:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,164
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18808273
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/werealldreaming/pseuds/werealldreaming
Summary: "We have mail," she said, and her voice was odd, off-kilter. "A letter from the army, and one from Kaladin."orLirin, a few months after his sons are conscripted.





	to bury a child

Lirin was beginning to settle into this new life without his sons.

The shift was simultaneously harder and easier than he had expected. In some ways, things were exactly the same as before they'd left. In the days after Amaram's visit, the townspeople had come together to support those whose sons had gone to war. That had included Lirin and Hesina, despite the tensions between them. But that community had gradually slipped away as time passed. Now, they were back to the familiarity of a strained, half-acknowledged relationship.

Still, it was impossible to forget that his sons were gone. There was no way to forget it, their absence sharp against every single action he took that should have included them. The house was empty, devoid of the sounds of his family, of Tien’s laughter and bright chatter.

The absence of Kaladin was even more jarring. Lirin had become too used to having him as a helper in the operating room, and he found himself pausing for a split second during treatments, expecting Kaladin to join him.

So much of their struggle had been so that they could fund Kaladin’s education in Kharbranth. And now... that was gone. Kaladin would never become a surgeon. They no longer needed the spheres they’d taken from Brightlord Wistiow. The entire heist had been for nothing. A waste.

Hesina held out hope, that their sons would survive and return to Hearthstone. That once the four years of tour were over, they would go back to their lives, the same as before. Lirin knew better. Even if they survived, war changed people. It twisted them, made them hard and cruel and killers. Their sons would never be the same.

Despite knowing all that, it never sank in until a day a few months after the Weeping. He came home from the village and called out to Hesina, expecting her usual welcome. She didn’t respond.

Lirin found her sitting at the kitchen table, head bowed. Her hand was clenched around a piece of paper, crumpling it.

"Hesina?"

She looked up. There was a strange, empty look in her eyes, and Lirin felt his stomach drop. Something was wrong. He’d never seen Hesina look like this before.

"We have mail," she said, and her voice was odd, off-kilter. "A letter from the army, and one from Kaladin."

Lirin nodded. He wasn’t sure why they were getting mail from the army--perhaps some sort of news about the boys' placement in the army? He wasn't sure what kind of communications they sent back home.

"Can you read it?" he asked.

Hesina smoothed out the paper in her hand. The noise it made was harsh in the quiet room.

"Dear Lirin and Hesina," she read. "It is the regret of the Amaram army to inform you that your son, Tien, died in battle. He was a brave soldier and his absence will be felt. May he join the army to retake the Tranquiline Halls." She paused and set down the paper. "It's signed with the Amaram glyphpair."

Lirin crossed to the table and sat down slowly, then buried his face in his hands. He wasn’t surprised by the news. He knew the army only sent word of casualties--no matter how much he’d wanted to convince himself otherwise.

He remembered the general's words:  _ He won’t be in combat _ . He wondered how long it had taken for the man to break his promise.

“What’s—” He was surprised to find his throat close up on the word. He hadn’t felt a loss affect him so strongly in years. He ought to be used to it, but this was different. “What does the other letter say?”

He heard Hesina shuffle the other papers. “It says—it says—” And then her breath hitched, and she let out a sob. The sound was jarring. Hesina wasn’t an emotional woman, and Lirin had only seen her cry a few times in their years together.

Lirin stood up and walked around to the table to lay a hand on her back. She’d dropped the letters and pressed her hands against her eyes. He rubbed circles into her back and murmured soft reassurances. It was something he’d done many times, to the families of patients he couldn’t save. It was a familiar action, something simple and constructive that he could do.

He picked up the letter, driven by some morbid curiosity. It was short, even shorter than the official letter sent by the army. The lines and curves of women’s script were unfamiliar to Lirin, unreadable, but he stared at them as if they would speak aloud.

Not that he needed them to. He knew what the letter said, even without hearing the exact words. Kaladin’s communication would be brief, to the point. The statement: Tien is dead. An apology. Nothing else. A confirmation of the worst news they’d ever received.

“My sons,” Hesina murmured. “Our children, Lirin. They’re gone.” She looked up at him, eyes bright with unshed tears. 

Lirin knelt down and took her freehand in both of his. “I know,” he said, but Hesina shook her head.

“It's not  _ fair, _ ” she sobbed. “He was  _ thirteen _ , he was a  _ child _ , he shouldn’t be gone. And—” she cut herself off. 

He could only nod. There were words he ought to say, words he’d learned when he’d studied to be a surgeon. He’d spoken them before, to parents and siblings and friends. But he couldn’t say them now, to his wife. There was something about the situation that made it feel wrong, insincere. 

“He was thirteen,” she said again. “And now he’s gone.”

A thought rose, unbidden.  _ This is my fault _ . If he hadn’t stolen the spheres, if he had given into Roshone’s demands, maybe— He dismissed the thought. He couldn’t let himself focus on what-ifs and maybes. It was the most difficult lesson he’d learned over the years: that focusing on the mistakes of the past did nothing, in the end. An impossible task, sometimes, but one he had a lot of practice in.

“It's not fair,” Lirin agreed. “Our sons are gone, and… we’ll never see them again.”

The realization hit him, then. Hesina had said it three times, but it wasn't until he said the words himself that their meaning truly struck him. There had always been a part of him that knew he’d never see his sons again, even before they’d received the letter. It was a part he’d pushed down, despite his cynicism. Even when he’d told Hesina of how war changed people, he hadn’t truly understood his words. But now… they had been made irrevocably real.

Lirin bowed his head and let his vision blur with tears. Felt the loss sweep over him, far more personal than any loss of a patient in the operating room. He hadn't built up calluses against that kind of loss. He hadn't taught himself how to push it away and not let it affect him. 

He wasn't sure he could. 

**Author's Note:**

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